Magical thinking weaves a persuasive spell, enchanting us into believing that the imprudent or harmful might just be perfectly fine. Indeed, magical thinking is a common thread in the tapestry of human psychology, varying in intensity from one individual to another. Nonetheless, irrespective of its strength, it seldom conjures the improvement or abundance we seek in our lives.
Several weeks ago, I confronted my magical thinking head-on— it’s the kind of magical thinnking that nudges me to indulge in things that seem okay but are not so wise according to plain old common sense. The battlefront? My closet, where I made the tough decision to part with several pairs of beloved shoes.
These weren’t just any shoes. They were the kind that transformed my appearance, elongating my legs (a feat only heels can accomplish) and perfectly completing certain ensembles. However, the stark reality is, the cost of looking good was simply too high. The heels exacerbated the arthritis in my feet, leading to pain that could steal my sleep and leave me tossing and turning, my feet pulsating with discomfort.
In a moment of clarity (and what felt like a whole lot of bravery) I donated a bag full of these beautiful shoes. But in a lapse back into my magical thinking, I held onto a couple of pair. I told myself they were the exception. Perhaps I’d wear them only occasionally or just for brief periods.
Who was I kidding?
I’ve learned that “if the shoe fits” doesn’t mean I should wear it—not when it costs me my well-being. For me, magical thinking lays at the sole of painful feet.
The question in Episode 38 of my Dare Boldly: No matter your age series is— where does magical thinking cloud your judgment? Where does it lure you into making choices that might feel good momentarily but ultimately do you harm?
For me, surrendering these shoes was a tangible step towards prioritizing my health over vanity. Beyond just physical items, it’s a metaphor for any aspect of life where we may hold onto harmful patterns simply because they feel good or fit an image we want to project.
What is your version of the shoes you need to give away? What are you willing to change to protect yourself from the seductive yet harmful embrace of magical thinking?
This woman appeared as the November woman for last year’s She Dares Boldly calendar which I’m using to emphasize the quote the muse awoke this morning to go with this post: Woven into the tapestry of life’s highs and lows, a woman’s essence blooms, as vibrant as roses intertwined with wings of change.
It’s been quite some time—over a year, in fact—since I last contributed a video to my Dare Boldly: No Matter Your Age video series. The last episode was last year on October 22.
As my birthday looms on the horizon, however, and as I delve deeper into the complexities of aging within our youth-centric society, I find myself reflecting on the significance of raising our voices. There is immeasurable value in every woman’s story as we collectively embark on this crucial journey, learning to embrace bravery and boldness at any stage of life.
The reminder about the series however, came yesterday evening when I had the pleasure of meeting with a remarkable group of women, all members of Calgary’s longest-running women’s book club. Established in 1976, this group convenes ten times a year to engage in thoughtful discussions about the selected book of the month. Notably, one of the attendees has been a dedicated member since the club’s inception.
These women are not only avid readers, but also independent thinkers—progressive, reflective, and deeply curious about life’s myriad questions, contradictions, and possibilities.
I am honored to have been invited as the guest speaker for their annual Christmas gathering at the end of November. Last night’s meeting served a dual purpose: to discuss my upcoming presentation and their expectations, and to provide me an opportunity to familiarize myself with them prior to addressing the larger group. This larger assembly comprises seven book clubs, each with ten members, totaling seventy women representing a diverse range of ages.
The founding group, with whom I had the pleasure of meeting, consists of women who, like me, are gracefully navigating the complexities of being a woman of a ‘certain’ age. Together, we have created homes, forged careers, and nurtured our families. We have embraced the joys and challenges of becoming grandmothers and, for some of us, taken on the significant responsibilities of caring for partners and parents.
Like my own journey, their lives have been marked by love both found and lost, by the profound grief of losing loved ones, and by the courage to embark on new beginnings. We have navigated endings and weathered life’s fluctuating highs and lows, all while striving to deepen our understanding of our true selves. In the process, we have learned to live authentically, remaining steadfast to our core values and our shared humanity.
As I departed from our meeting, having shared a glimpse of what I plan to discuss later this month, I was profoundly moved by the richness and fullness of these women’s lives. Each individual is fascinating in her own right, and together, they form a captivating and vibrant collective. Many of these women have been part of this book club for several years, fostering a circle characterized by intimacy, companionship, and mutual support.
My friend, who kindly recommended me as this year’s Christmas bash speaker, took a moment to tell the group about my video series, “Dare Boldly: No Matter Your Age.”
This interaction served as both a reminder and an invitation, prompting me to set up my lights and camera this morning to record the 37th episode of the series.
Centuries ago, Aristotle wrote, “The most important relationship we can all have is the one you have with yourself. The most important journey you can take is one of self-discovery. To know yourself, you must spend time with yourself, you must not be afraid to be alone. Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”
I’d add, “Yet, without seeking to empower self-awareness through self-reconciliation, self-awareness hangs, like an unripened pear, in fruitless possibility.”
Recently, while on my solo trip to Ireland, someone mentioned that they hate travelling alone. “I think it’s because I don’t really like my own company,”
Their comment surprised and intrigued me. I wrote the question in my journal, “Do I like my own company?”
Yes, was my immediate response.
What is it about your own company you enjoy? was my next question.
That one didn’t evoke an immediate response. I decided to make a list of all the things I liked about being with me.
I enjoy sitting watching people,.
Being alone gives me space to savour silence
I like how I’m comfortable just ‘being’ without having to be doing.
I enjoy making up stories about other people’s lives, and when I’m alone, I have all the time I need to do that.
I meet strangers where they’re at when I’m travelling on my own and get to hear their stories
I don’t feel like I have to be ‘on’ when I’m travelling alone. I can choose to talk to someone or not, choose to go out, or not, choose what pleases me at any given time.
After reflecting on my own appreciation for solitude, I began to realize that this contentment I find in my own company is intimately tied to a deeper journey—one that involves self-knowledge and the transformative power of self-reconciliation.
Having spent much of my adult life peeling back the layers of my psyche, the insights I’ve acquired into my inner workings, have helped me gain a profound understanding of who I am, beauty and the beast, yin and yang, dark and light, good, bad and indifferent.
However, on its own, self-knowledge doesn’t guarantee personal transformation. It’s just the beginning of a more profound journey. Imagine it as the map that shows you where you are, but it doesn’t tell you how to navigate the challenging terrain ahead.
Without seeking to empower self-awareness through self-reconciliation, it’s as if we stand at the edge of a vast challenging terrain, separated from where we are by a vast field of possibility. We want to know those possibilities but, fear of the unknown holds us back from taking the first step into the uncharter territory laid out before us. In many ways, this uncharted wilderness represents the aspects of ourselves that we’ve shied away from, the emotions we’ve suppressed, and the contradictions we’ve ignored. It’s a territory filled with uncertainty, and the journey within can seem daunting.
To bridge the gap between where we stand and the heart of our internal divide, we must cultivate courage and self-compassion. Courage to face our inner demons, and self-compassion to understand that it’s okay to have flaws, imperfections, and contradictions. Much like a seasoned explorer who equips themselves with the right tools and knowledge, we too can prepare for this journey.
First, we must arm ourselves with self-awareness, which acts as our compass. It helps us navigate the intricate pathways of our psyche. Self-awareness allows us to identify the areas where we feel divided within ourselves, pinpointing the sources of inner conflict.
Next, we need the flashlight of mindfulness. Mindfulness enables us to shine a light on the dark corners of our thoughts and emotions. It helps us observe our inner landscape without judgment, fostering a sense of curiosity and acceptance.
But perhaps the most crucial tool in our kit is self-compassion. It’s the warm embrace we offer ourselves when we encounter the challenges of self-reconciliation. Self-compassion reminds us that we are human, and like all humans, we are a complex tapestry of experiences, desires, and contradictions.
____________________________
The ReWrite Journey
As I develope the courseware for The ReWrite Joureny which I’ll be launching in January, I’l be exploring specific strategies and practices that will guide us deeper into the internal divide. We’ll learn how to reconcile the conflicting parts of our identity, heal past wounds, and emerge from this wilderness as more integrated, authentic, and self-aware individuals empowered to write a life-story that gives us the courage to shine bright, no matter how dark the times..
So, fasten your metaphorical hiking boots, gather your tools, and get set to embark on the journey of your lifetime as we tread, light of foot and heart, into the heart of the internal divide, where true self-reconciliation awaits.
She dares to live as if age is not a limitation, but an invitation to live it up with passion, purpose and profound significance.
I never thought I’d be charting a course for my next decade while stranded on the narrow roads of Ireland with a flat tire, but sometimes life’s unexpected twists force us to pause, reflect, and reevaluate our journey. It was in that moment of inconvenience, standing at the edge of a lake shimmering in the breathtaking beauty of the Irish landscape, that I realized the need to drive less, rest more, and dive deep into the boundless possibilities of my future.
As I approach my 70s, I’ve been pondering how to live life to the fullest. How can I unleash the creativity that simmers within me, yearning to break free? How do I wake up every morning with unwavering belief in the promise of a better tomorrow, immersing myself in passion and purpose, prose and artisitic expression?
The question that echoes in my heart is this: How do I craft the best chapter of my life yet?
Come December 9, the turning of the calendar will usher in a new decade, laden with the wisdom of years gone by and the thrilling anticipation of what lies ahead. The choice to seize this opportunity, to truly live it up, is solely mine to make—or to disregard.
I stand at a crossroads where I can defy societal expectations that often suggest older adults are merely biding their time. The world seems to imply that whatever we’re doing at ‘this age’ is mere inconsequential chatter, like flotsam on the surface of life. I wholeheartedly reject that notion. I choose to be noisy, to be loud, and dare I say it, to be obnoxious in my determination to declare: “It’s not over yet, baby! I’m ready to set the world on fire!”
This is my time, my moment, to embrace life with open arms and an open heart. It’s a time to cherish the unique perspective that comes with age, a perspective that is enriched by decades of experiences and lessons learned. My journey ahead is not a passive drift towards the sunset; it’s a blazing trail, illuminating the path for others to follow.
In this next chapter of my life, I am committed to leaving an indelible mark. I will pour my heart and soul into every endeavor, chase my dreams with fervour, and nurture my creativity like a precious flame. I won’t just exist; I will thrive. I will embody the belief that there’s still so much to contribute, create, and achieve, because age is not a limitation—it’s an opportunity.
So, here’s to the future, to embracing the uncharted territory that lies ahead with a fierce determination to make every day count. It’s a future filled with possibilities, and I intend to explore them all. Armed with a deeply seated love of self and humanity, a spirit embued with compassion, and a belief in the possibility of better, I declare that my 70s will be a decade of purpose, passion, and profound significance.
Watch out world! The 70s are calling and there’s no stopping me now!
Yesterday morning, deciding to venture into Nenagh to buy provisions for my week at the cottage, the cheerful woman in the pharmacy informed me that the town’s top-rated coffee shop remains closed on Mondays. Interestingly, the next three top favorites, along with the iconic Country Store (known for its French cheeses and salamis), share the same schedule. “You know, the Country Store was the first to introduce salamis and foreign cheese to the region,” she told me with pride.
Walking by the Country Store, a sign affixed to its door informed passersby it’s also shut on Tuesdays. Which is why I decided to head to the Tesco (Ireland’s version of Superstor) to stock up on coffee, fruits, yogurt, and other essentials. Although the cottage is surrounded by inviting pubs within walking distance, navigating the one-lane roads at night, isn’t a task I’m eager to undertake.
Despite Google Maps being a reliable navigator, reaching Tesco was a mini-adventure. The challenge wasn’t the accuracy of the directions, but the speed at which I would spot the street signs. What should’ve been a 5-minute drive from downtown Nenagh ended up taking three times longer.
Embracing the Irish pace has become my new mantra. I’ve come to appreciate the slower timeline and my inadvertent detours—whether by car or foot.
Because even on foot, and with Google maps to direct me, I am as adept at getting lost as when I’m driving. A lovely stroll from my cottage towards Lough Derg early yesterday evening led me down an enticing ‘road’ (it was the prerequisite one lane-narrow) pointing towards Castlelough.
I walked (downhill) savouring the fresh evening air, forest aromas and all the cows munching grass in green, green pastures. Their big, curious eyes would briefly shift from the lush grasses to observe my passing. Surprisingly, though Ireland is known for its sheep, they have been markedly absent from the pastures all around. I was however, delighted to meet an amiable dog who accompanied me for a stretch before turning back towards home as I ambled on down the hill towards Castlelough.
Reaching the tranquil lake shore was rewarding. However, the uphill trek back, with Google Maps as a quasi-guide, had me second-guessing my route more than once. Ironically, my directionally-challenged stroll did lead me to a delightful sight: a farmer herding his cattle, their moos echoing in the crisp air.
As I walked (in the wrong direction) followed by a parade of cows, their gentle snuffles and mewls and the farmer’s calling out, “Hup. Hup.” to urge them along, a soft serenade that grew quieter as he shepherded them into a farmyard and I continued to walk in the wrong direction.
Eventually, my curiosity about why I was walking back down towards the lake convinced me I needed to check Google maps again. That’s when I discovered ‘my big mistake’. My 8 minutes from the cottage when I’d last checked had become 18. If I carried on the way I was going, my walk would be another 35 minutes, in gathering dusk. Right. Turning the phone around to ensure you’re walking in the right direction is a fundamental navigational tool.
I turned around and began walking back up the hill, negotiating my way through the cow patties they’d left on their homeward journey.
Don’t you just love the smell of fresh manure? It has such a… memorable… aroma!
Settling into the cottage has been a learning curve. From mastering the basics of realizing I need to flip a light switch to turn on the water to the shower and kettle to familiarizing myself with local terms (it’s not a gas station, it’s a petrol station!), I’ve been absorbing it all. And apparently, a Euro coin is just… a coin.
Today, as the autumn chill lingers outside, I’m staying away from driving. I’ll take a couple of walks. Maybe even a nap. With Mr. Baggins, my feline companion, snoozing on the sofa and a warm fire crackling, I take a moment to relish my self-made coffee.
Autumn – that enchanting season where Mother Earth gently reminds us of life’s cyclical nature: the ebb and flow of endings and beginnings, of birth and decay and renewal.
Sir Beaumont of Sheepadoodle and I are walking along a ridge above the river. With each step we take take, leaves crunch and whisper stories beneath our feet. Sunbeams dance on the river, making the water come alive with a joyous shimmer.
The world moves, yet in this moment, it feels still.
As Beaumont and I meander along the ridge above the river, the vast eastern sky stretches out, painted in hues of serene blue streaked with white clouds billowing up. To the west, an impending storm, threatening to draw into the vast blueness above us. The wind howls gathers strength. Golden leaves dance on the ground, the crisp autumn breeze urging them to let go and release their bodies to its beguiling nature..
As we walk, we chance upon a woman, her camera ready to capture nature’s magic. Further along, a couple stand, their arms heavy with fishing gear. “Any luck?” I ask. “Too late in the season,” they respond. But their lack of fishing success didn’t deter Beau. Eager for affection, he dances and whines with his eternal request to, “Pet me. Pet me.” The man happily obliges, and for a brief moment, two strangers connect over a shared love for a dog.
The journey continues. My hair dances to the rhythm of the wind, and the distinctive sounds of autumn serenad us. I take a deep, invigorating breath, basking in the sheer vitality of the moment.
We venture east, then turn back towards the west, where the approach of ominous clouds cast a shadow over the mountains in the distance.
And then, as if a painter has suddenly hurled white paint against a dark canvas, divine rays of light break through, painting the sky with celestial elegance. “Look at that,” I whisper to Beau, awed by the spectacle.
I stand and watch and soak it in and that’s when I hear it. Above the familiar sounds of the ridge before a storm, a new melody emerges as if carried on a magic carpet out of the darkness of the western skies – the soulful cry of a violin.
Curious, I hurry westward.
And there, atop the ridge, stands a figure. Dressed in sleek black lycra with a vivid yellow jacket, he stands next to a resting bike, a violin nestled against his neck. An open backpack, a music stand with sheets pinned to its frame, the papers fluttering in the breeze, large headphones that seem out of place in this natural setting. Yet, lost in his music, the world around him ceases to exist.
Beau, ever the curious canine, continues exploring, but I am spellbound. The violinist’s passionate performance feels like a mystical bubble of wonder, resonating with the very essence of the serene landscape around.
Each note of his song brushes against my soul, speaking awe in every fibre of my being.
Eyes closed, he plays oblivious to my presence. I stand and listen and close my eyes and soak it all in.
Like light streaming through the clouds, gracing the world with beauty and wonder, his notes embrace me with the magic of a moment where man, nature and music became one symphonic dance of joy.
I open my eyes and walk on, back towards my car. Back towards home.
And still, no matter where I go, I carry the music with me.
Where does one thought end and the next begin? Is there a clear separation between them? Or do thoughts blend together, much like early morning ponderings, clamoring for attention and struggling to make sense of overwhelming thoughts that seem too vast to grasp?
Several years ago, as part of my work at the Homeless Foundation, I organized an information session in a community where we aimed to build 30 units of affordable housing for individuals with a history of homelessness.
However, the community did not want us there. While their resistance to the project was not unusual, their actions to impede the permits required for construction were unexpected.
On the night of the information session, a crowd of 150 people showed up, mostly in opposition to the project. Understandably, few who supported the initiative attended. The naysayers were highly vocal and the atmosphere among the angry crowd was unpleasant.
Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worse when the crowd transformed into a mob. They raised their fists in the air, shouting and chanting, “We don’t want you here! We don’t want you here!”
Since one of the leaders had been speaking to me just moments before the mob formed, they surrounded me and directed their chants towards me.
In that moment, I intellectually understood that their anger, raised fists, and “We don’t want you here!” were not personal attacks on me. Outwardly, I remained calm, instructing my co-workers to pack up our signage and materials, and informing the crowd that we had heard their concerns and would be leaving so they could talk among themselves.
Their immediate response was to yell back, “You can’t leave. You have to tell us what we need to do to prevent the construction in our community.”
The only response I could give them was, “I don’t have your answers. You need to work on finding them yourselves.”
For many reasons, we ultimately decided not to proceed with that project.
Here’s the thing: though, that incident triggered a deeply ingrained limiting belief within me. It was one of those messages that I internalized during my childhood, not because the people around me explicitly said, “you don’t belong here,” but rather due to the confusing and unsettling experiences I encountered as a child. I interpreted those experiences as a sign that something was wrong with me, that I didn’t fit in or belong within my own family.
Healing that broken place within me has been a lifelong journey. It has required conscious practice of self-love and acceptance, therapy, workshops, extensive writing, and an ongoing commitment to embracing my true self. I strive to be a person who is loving, kind, caring, compassionate, and thoughtful of others, ensuring that my words and actions do not cause harm to the world and those who inhabit it.
My wise daughters have often remarked that I guard my heart, and while there may have been valid reasons in the past, living with a guarded heart is not how I wish to exist in this world.
I desire to live with my heart beating wild and free, capable of love, deep emotions, and experiencing all of life’s beauty, light, and darkness, fully.
Which is why, when faced with moments that tempt me to once again shield my heart and withdraw, I remind myself of the woman who confronted a mob and summoned the courage to face her inner demons, enabling her to live a life unencumbered by fear and full of love.
In each of our lives, there are moments when we unintentionally, and perhaps sometimes intentionally, say or do things that cause harm to others or ourselves. We are all fallible humans, carrying our own wounds and scars, grappling with unease and unexpected eruptions of pain.
Just like me, you too have experienced the sting of loss and the agony of betrayal. And, just like me, you too strive to be the person you aspire to be in this world. You seek the joy of being loved, loving others, and feeling a sense of significance and belonging.
Living with an open heart means listening to the wisdom it imparts. Despite what my critical inner voice may suggest, my wise heart recognizes that my belonging is not contingent upon the actions and words of others. It is rooted in my deep belief that I am a courageous woman who endeavors to touch hearts with gentle and loving hands, to broaden minds with caring and compassionate thoughts, and to live by the truth I hold dear.
No matter the circumstances, regardless of what others say or do, irrespective of how lost or confused I may feel or how tumultuous the storms around me become, I firmly believe that love is the only answer.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older or if people have always said it, but I feel like I’m hearing , “Age is just a number” a lot more than I used to.
And while It’s true, age is just a number, as I grow older there are times when that number feels more daunting, more full of the unpredictable vagaries of being human and the certainty that this journey of life is a one-way ticket to the end of the line
Which is why, if age truly is just a number, we must choose to life as if it’s not the number of years we’ve been on this earth that matter most, but how we live them, learn from them and grow through them that makes a difference.
I like to believe I choose not to let age define me. Though, as my 70th birthday fast approaches, I am more conscious of the number than I’ve been before. What does it mean to be turning 70? What will life bring?
I find myself standing in front of the mirror more often looking at the lines, wondering how to hide the shadows and the evidence of my years on earth growing stronger on my face.
Which is the interesting part of this age. Up until now, I took my face for granted. I took the future for granted too. In the past, it seemed more predictable, reliable. After having my first attack of inflammatory arthritis, the fact aging brings with it its own surprises is kind of front and centre in my mind.
It’s time to shake it up!
It’s time to remember, the number doesn’t make my life any different. I do!
It means answering the question, How will I live my life? requires me to stop fixating on growing older so that I can turn my attention to living fully this moment now, unburdened by thouhts of life’s inevitable ending chapter.
It’s entirely up to me how I live today and my days to come. I can either perceive aging as a daunting process, allowing the little creaks in my joints or the physical changes in and on my body to limit my joy, or I can embrace a different perspective.
I refuse to let age dampen my spirits. Instead, I choose to cherish every moment and relish the freedom of choice I possess. It’s tempting to believe that growing older only brings hardships, but I challenge that notion. I celebrate the journey I’ve been on and the wisdom I’ve gained along the way.
I am the sole curator of my joy. I have the power to shape my life and stay true to myself, regardless of what others think or the doubts that creep into my mind. I won’t let them interfere with the pure, exquisite joy and privilege of being alive right now, in a world bursting with endless possibilities. A world where there is so much I want to achieve, so many things I don’t want to leave undone and so many experiences I want to taste.
In this vast world, there is room for exploration, learning, and growth, regardless and because of, my age. Each day presents an opportunity to pursue my dreams and push beyond the limits I once believed confined me. I won’t allow fear or self-imposed limitations to hold me back. Instead, I revel in the freedom to embrace my true self and wholeheartedly pursue my passions.
The fact is, age and its corresponding number, are merely signposts on the map of life—a reminder of the remarkable journey we embarked upon with the moment of our birth. It’s up to each of us to infuse each step with purpose and meaning, celebrating the small victories and embracing the grand adventures. I choose to fully embrace the sheer brilliance of existence and make the most of every single moment.
After all, age is just a number, but the way I live that number—that’s my choice.
I’m not known for my gardening expertise. Growing up in Germany, the gardeners who tended to my parent’s yard kindly asked me not to assist them after I mistakenly pulled out flowers instead of weeds from the rock garden. Their request left an impression on me and stunted my desire to gardening career.
I’ve always stuck to planting pots, avoiding the complexities of full-fledged gardens. However, one year, I mustered the courage to dig up a patch of grass in our backyard and create a flower garden. I was proud of my efforts, but it didn’t last long. Our mischievous Golden Retriever, Ellie, and the squirrels she loved to chase through the yard, wreaked havoc, erasing most of my labours and leaving only fallen leaves and petals. I took it as a sign that I should stick to pots.
In the summer of 2020, the year my mother passed away, a generous neighbor gifted me three beautiful purple irises from her garden. With my trowel in hand, and trepidation in my heart, I plunked them into the earth the giant fir tree in our frontyard. I’d occassionally water them, poke around and pull out weeds at their stems, and pray a lot for their survival.
Fast forward two years, and those three irises have multiplied into a stunning display. A neighbor across the street even remarked that I must have a green thumb. I chuckled and corrected her, confessing that I simply have resilient plants.
Life is a lot like that. We find ourselves planted in the garden bed of our family, or something resembling it. The caretakers of that garden do their best, wrestling with their own self-doubts and limiting beliefs about being parents or ability to function in an often unfriendly world.
We take root. We reach for the sun. We navigate the sometimes daunting mystery of the garden of our life, where the path ahead is obscured.
And yet, we continue to grow.
Our growth may face obstacles—a lack of nourishment, care, or support. But still, we dig deep, anchor ourselves, spread our roots and expand.
My irises flourish not because of my expertise or nurturing (remember, my limiting belief tells me I’m not a gardener). They thrive despite my lack of gardening prowess because they seize any opportunity to grow. Survival is their instinct, and that’s precisely what they’ve done.
I cherish these irises. They serve as a potent reminder of life’s beauty and mysteries. They also bear my mother’s namesake, connecting me to her enduring spirit of kindness and her desire to always see the beauty in all things.
Moreover, they invite me to confront my own limiting beliefs about gardening – and other things too. They challenge me to dig into those beliefs, uproot the weeds of doubt, and allow myself to flourish right where I’m planted.
How’s the garden of your life today? Are you tending to it with loving care? Are you uprooting weeds and watering the flowers?
Or, are you letting limiting beliefs keep you rooted in the muds of past mistakes and dead end adventures?
Is it time to let nature have its way and flourish right where you’re planted?
Yep, the big seven-zero. And let me tell you, this weekend was a stark reminder of how time flies and how our bodies change along with it.
It all started on Saturday morning when I decided to join a drumming circle to connect with life’s rhythms. It was a great way to kick off the weekend. Afterward, I attended a workshop called “Connect,” which is part of the Discovery Seminars I coach. In Connect, the focus is on enhancing our understanding of our communication styles and how to more effectively connect with others.
All was going well until, out of nowhere, my right knee decided to make a grand entrance. And boy, did it make its presence known. It began with a little bit of swelling in the back and then… it started screaming, “I’m here!” By Saturday night, I could barely walk. The pain escalated to the point where, by Sunday morning, I was throwing up and couldn’t stand. Ouch!
Finally, after calling 8.1.1. for medical advice, and being told I’d best go to the hospital and have it checked given I’d been in pain for so many hours, we called an ambulance. My husband, who suffers from COPD, wasn’t able to help me get to the car.and I definitely couldn’t navigate my way there, even with crutches. My leg just wouldn’t bear the weight.
Fast foward to several hours in Emerg, I arrive back home late Sunday afternoon with my knee drained of excess fluids, some pain killers and a prescription for anti-inflammatories along with directions to RICE my knee for at least 72 hours. RICE, btw, stands for Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. Who knew?
Oh. And a diagnosis that makes my almost 70 years on this earth seem older than I think I am — Inflammatory Arthritis.
Ugh. I mean seriously? Arthritis can just decide to attack and inflame a joint at whim? Now that’s not fair. But then, my mother always told me, life wasn’t fair. Get over it.
Sigh. If only I’d listened to her advice, or at least when she’d cautioned me, all those years ago, to ‘be careful’. If only I hadn’t always thought I had 16 year old knees every time I attacked a mogul field and if only…
If only’s don’t matter in the here and now.
The fact is, there’s no use dwelling on the “if only’s.” I can’t change the past, and honestly, I wouldn’t want to. I loved skiing like a maniac when I was younger, challenging myself on mogul fields, cruising down groomed slopes, and floating through deep powder. It was exhilarating. And guess what? I can still enjoy some of it without trying to prove that my knees are still 16 years old. Because, well, they’re not!
What matters in the here and now is how I navigate what is here. Now.
And that is my choice. I can do it with denial. I can do it with anger. Or… I can do it with grace.
I choose grace.
By embracing grace, I open myself up to life as it is, not as I wish it to be. I can appreciate my body as this incredible vessel that has carried me through so much and still has plenty more to go (hopefully) before I take my final breath.
So, here’s to cherishing the present, embracing our limitations, and gracefully riding the waves of life.
I mean, it’s been an incredible ride thus far, I’m looking forward to all the adventures yet to come!
Dare Boldly 